


Flowers

by Admiral_smile



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, George wants to die, George's wife - OFC, Hanahaki Disease, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read, Open Ending, Shay wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Admiral_smile/pseuds/Admiral_smile
Summary: Clover fell, fell, fell to the ground.
Relationships: George Monro/Original Female Character(s), Shay Cormac/George Monro
Kudos: 6





	Flowers

Shay soothed him, but not a single word of comfort could spare the pain; Burn the flowers from the lungs; stop hoarse; throat-breaking cough.  
All he could do for the Colonel was to listen to his breath; touch, whisper useless words.

After kneeling, Cormack guiltily clasped Monroe's trembling shoulders with his hands - nothing to do, no change.

Luck.

The irony of fate - white clover.  
Crumpled, shiny leaves - three-leaf.

Luck is a myth.  
Fingers easily pulled off the wig, revealing the touched gray hair, gathered in the tail hair - Shay loved their smell, softness - feeling the tremulous touch George deflected, leaning his back against the chest of the young Templar, allowing him to touch his ear with a careful kiss.

"Everything will be fine," - pathetic whisper.

Cough served as the answer.  
The clover fell, fell, fell to the ground.

Grave.  
The young Templar hated her, but knew it wouldn 't change anything.  
Blind rage, empty charges - she left, leaving Colonel alone - one-on-one with illness.

After the death of George’s wife, it returned - they say that if you lose someone you love, the disease can blossom again.

“Unfair,” - a quiet breath.

With the tips of Monroe's fingers caught his palm awkwardly squeezed, brought closer to his neck - a mute request to loosen the handkerchief when the white cloth fell on a hill of leaves he freely inhaled the cold, scorching air, but immediately bowed in a coughing fit.

"We need to leave," - Shay, uncertainly distracted, touched the back of his head with his lips.  


"No," - George shuddered, but did not pull back, allowing the young Templar to close his arms on his stomach, - "Needless," - the last words with green lumps fell on a handkerchief.

***

Cormac has never encountered anything like this - on the streets, in the fraternity - there was no room for feelings and flowers.  
No one talked about it.

Hanahaki is a terrible, distant fairy tale - always with a good ending.  
No one talked about death, pain, eternal coughing , about flowers.  
No one spoke of fear of flowers - sweet-smelling suspense: rose was an unspoken symbol of disease, a messenger of death, sharp spikes.

The disease is easy to hide - there is a cure.  
A row of empty jars on the table cast a shadow over the paper.

George did not answer, shook his head, gently waved away - there is no reason to be alarmed.  
The white clover was green in the folds of a neckerchief, clattered into the straps of the uniform - a young Templar saw in it a talisman, a memory of the family, the house.  
Everything changed after the first attack - loud, painful - the Colonel stopped, touching his throat hurriedly bowed, retreating.  
The rush alarmed Shay, forced her to intercept someone else’s wrist - draw her closer to her, protect her, and answer with help for help.

Clover broke out of lungs.  
Like the fallen symbol fell on the pavement - on a stone sheet - Cormack repeatedly noticed the green curls on the pillow, how old it was, how could he miss?

The portrait - a young Templar with forced curiosity looked in the face of a woman: thin, strict features of the face, a washed smile - pale hands crossed on knees clutched a bouquet - field flowers.  
The disease is the answer to all the questions, please no longer pronounce her name.  
What did he find in her? Whether they had children? - he should not have thought of it, ask, disturb old wounds, but the feeling of dog attachment squeezing heart needles of a rose pricked thoughts - silly - to silly envy the dead.

Everything starts with affection - the obsession of the drowning; The obsession of the receiving forbidden fruit - stretched hand.

Cormack knew he was loved.  
Hanahaki is the curse of undivided love - feelings, Monroe 's warmth prevented flowers from growing.

The first kiss.  
Tickling, prickly taste of herbs.

Shay 's finger tips carried on the Colonel 's lips - George retreated - a similar relationship denied by society - a chilling heat leaving burns.  
Awkward dance of experienced swordsmen on the field of flowers - fear to crush, to allow weeds to get to the throat, to strangle.

The four-leaf clover - the young Templar found it, caught it - fading, touched by decomposition but promising luck.  
Giving hope.

He broke up in his palm, leaving a Imprint.

***

"Legend of paper cranes," - Cormac carefully lowered chin on the shoulder of Monroe, - Left, so little, - blind, invented faith.

Gather a hundred four-listers, free.  
A fairy tale makes sense to live on.

The Colonel didn 't understand him.  
The disease became its part - an eternal wound - not to cure it: neither a belief, nor belief, nor empty rage - only to dull pain.

Sometimes, listening Cormac's breath George asked himself why Shay chose him, why he refused the thought of having a family - of his future - one day, he would ask aloud.

Clover grew up on the skin - Monro felt it.  
The green clover moustache caressed the edges of the fresh scratch - hastily revealed - three-leaf.

"You will bring yourself to the grave, Colonel" - Christopher 's words knocked in the temples, echo answered distant shots.

The colonel turned around, the weight of the manuscript.  
Getting to the ship - "Morrigan."

Heart pounding like a songbird on cell edges.

Solution - he knew - would kill him.  
He will die slowly, choking on blood and flowers - the brotherhood will take care of it - revenge - revenge, a vile gift, a reminder to Shay - all that will be dear to you will be destroyed.  
Fear of death - no, fear: Cormac will be left alone.  
He made the mistake of letting him get closer.  
Answered.

It seemed to him - flowers wrapping around the wrist of a young Templar clutching his wrist.  
Thistle.

"Did he touch ?" - The last thought - Say cautiously, clinging to the lace cuff with his fingers, stepped.  
Stopped - spared from the choice.

"No"

Old age; Society; Fraternity; death - something sure to coal will fall in their way - little time.  
Everything was mixed, intertwined - smell, voices, noise, crackling devouring New York flames.  
Whirlpool - the world became a cluster of blurry spots, like honeycombs - they surrounded it - black roses, smelling of burning dust and a suffocating field, blossomed before our eyes.

The attack - a four-leaf.  
Sprout was lying in the mud and crushed by the next step.


End file.
